


This piecing glare

by Jaden_Rebecca_Reed



Category: Twilight Series - Stephenie Meyer
Genre: Angst, Awkward Tension, Drama, F/M, Fear, Medical Trauma, Nightmares, Suspicions
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-25
Updated: 2018-07-25
Packaged: 2019-06-16 02:13:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,410
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15426792
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Jaden_Rebecca_Reed/pseuds/Jaden_Rebecca_Reed
Summary: His father was a priest, a clergyman, a man with sharp glare and swift to death. He is a patriarch, a father figure in his family. However, the most important, he is a vampire. Entirely cold creature with impossibly warm heart. Will she be able to see any difference between her future father-in-law and the man from her nightmares?





	This piecing glare

 

* * *

**Take me to church**   
**I'll worship like a dog at the shrine of your lies**   
**I'll tell you my sins so you can sharpen your knife**   
**Offer me my deathless death**   
**Good God, let me give you my life**

She watches every his action attentively, and he is moving very slowly not to startle her. Step by step, each time shooting a fluent glance at her chocolate-brown eyes, full of caution and alarm. Each time she is suppressing an impulse to run away.

He is a predator, and she is his prey.

She knows, whereas they do not know she does. She is quite naïve and innocent to guess.

He considers her fast heartbeat is caused by her recent injury. However, she does not think so. She is merely affected by the cut, too used to it for all these years. By the same reason, he is not bothered by her scent. She does not know, though.

And here she is. In the big house, alone with always bloodthirsty creature, jerking from every his gentle touch.

At the same time, he cannot accept her fear.

He is hardly scary for an ordinary human, definitely trustworthy as a specialist and beyond doubt caring for the fragile girl, who now became a part of his already big family.

Something odd is going on with her hand, she cannot figure out what exactly. No any discomfort, pain medications do their thing. Only slight pressure when, she suspects, the needle penetrates the skin.

His too accurate and exact moves could not form even for one decade of practice. His too deep and serious knowledge could not be got during only some years of university. Moreover, his eyes. Too wise and compassionate. Too knowing this life with all its adversities and injustice. They seem too old as for his young appearance. Too old soul stuck in eternally young body.

She takes a quick look at her stitched forearm and suddenly becomes a little nauseous. No, it was not worth it. On the other hand, hasn't she seen blood before?

She eyes him warily and he just smiles reassuringly searching for a match. He has to burn it all to ashes not to risk her safety. He looks at her again with worry. Too frightened and knowing sight on her face. He frowns slightly tilting his head. Like a priest, silently telling he is ready to listen and help with whatever it was.

She smiles and thanks for everything, but he can see and feel something is wrong. He cannot figure it out again and it disquiets him. Like a parent worried about his child.

She sees his questioning look and slightly darkened eyes. Another wave of anxiety rises in her chest. This glance makes her shiver, something in her mind can't settle down. This glance is too acquainted, too piercing.

Hot flames of fire are dancing in the ceramic bowl, destroying any hint of her tempting blood scent.

She apprehensively watches as he takes a seat in the armchair in front of her, clasping his hands together and slightly leaning forward, as he usually did. In his eyes – silent question 'why?' Although there is too much silence between them.

"You are not human, right?" suddenly she more likely states, than askes. He nods. He knew she would guess some day. Sooner or later – no matter.

She looks in his ochre eyes and sees everything he feels right now.

Understanding and compassion. For her.

Pity and regret. For the creature he is. For being a predator in her eyes.

Sadness. For making her feel like this. Like a pray.

"Bella," he calls one more time, while she is staring at the carpet. He slowly reaches out and gently lifts her head, making her look at him. She shivers from the coolness of his hands. He picks every word accurately, to hit the mark. "Sweetheart, I know it is hard to accept, but you are safe here. My entire family and I... we will never hurt you."

He is speaking quietly, but audible for human ear, and every his word echoes in the mind. She wants to believe. She has to.

"Ok" she manages to say even more quietly, taking some deep breathes. He leans back not stopping watching her reaction. She swallows a lump in her throat, shifting her gaze to his eyes again.

So kind and compassionate.

Definitely not the eyes of a hunter watching his victim.

And she somehow believes.

Not a predator.

Not a prey.

However, if it was the only reason...

* * *

She screams and wakes up again. Almost every night his eyes are chasing her. Scary black, sometimes crimson-red. And never gold. Rubbing her eyes, she tries to assure herself that is in no any danger. Now, when she knows his story, things became even worse. She can perfectly imagine his father. Priest and judge. Killer and prosecutor.

Sure, he got this glare from him.

Nobody knew about her bad dreams and still she had no need to tell anybody about it. No even Edward.

They are driving in the car silently. Soon, the entire family leaves for a hunting trip and she must be in the safe place during these two days.

"Bella, you look paler than usually. Please, let Carlisle take a look"

She has no urge to argue at that point, so just agrees, whereas no little bit liking this idea.

And she meets his gaze again. Kind, warm, but still. The gaze from her nightmares. They are alone again.

"I am in my study," he tells her softly, feeling her tension and goes upstairs.

And in some minutes she is standing outside a door, gathering all courage she had.

Knock

Step

His eyes.

She took an unnoticeable breath and saw him smiling a little and gesturing towards the armchair.

"Well, Edward told me you are sleeping badly last time" he states. Right off the bat.

And she meets his eyes again. Concerned, worried, at the same time silently asking to confess.

"I am having nightmares, actually," she says in a low voice, now staring outside the window and letting her mind wander. Then wants to ad, to lie she don't remember them. However, she can't lie to this man. Never could.

He frowns slightly, watching her tense.

"Tell me what's going on, please, Bella. Maybe, I am able to help you." He asks softly, making her look at him for one more time.

"It's nothing, really." She tries to assure him. She seems to quite relaxed, whereas her mind is not. What's wrong with her? She still can't figure out why.

He watches her attentively. It was the first time they were able to talk since then. Not that they didn't want.

She stiffens and turns her head to meet his intent gaze. To quickly, too sharp.

"Sorry" she mumbles, suddenly feeling ashamed.

Awkward silence between them lasts no longer than a minute, but seems to last hours.

"I scare you, don't I?" his deep and somehow sad voice breaks the silence in the room, as well as growing tension between them. There is no judgment there, never was. Just ascertaining the fact. He suspects her to deny it, whereas she knows he will not accept this answer. Furthermore, he is beyond controversy right. Moreover, not the first time. She is silent for a long moment. He does not need her answer, though. During centuries, you are learning to puzzle out people, whether you want it or not. "And you don't trust me."

"Sorry," she says again and God-knows what she is sorry for. "I swear I try to..." He exhales slowly takes her hand in his. She doesn't seem to protest.

"Bella," he is speaking softly, soothingly. Like he is used to with children. "What are you afraid of? Specifically."

She doesn't know how to answer. He always was an authoritative figure, somebody people usually obeyed and respected. Somebody, who was a leader, a judge, a prosecutor. Like his father.

At the same time his head is full of the same memories. Hardly any of them are peasant, though. He never wanted to be feared. He was known as the son of inquisitor, of course. It was unpreventable.

"The vampire." she suddenly says. "I see a vampire in my dreams. Thirsty, human drinking. And a lot of crosses actually."

And she feels his piercing glance again.

This glance of ochre eyes.

Eyes of patriarch.

Eyes of father.


End file.
